Challenges
by Lindelea1
Summary: Take several unrelated words or phrases, craft them into a story. Are you game?
1. hairpin,floppy hat,butterfly,wet kitten

From a Lacey-Dana challenge. Or maybe it was a Dana-Lacey challenge. Things get blurry after midnight. Take these items, and craft a story: hairpin, butterfly, floppy hat, wet kitten. How did I do? (Characters: Auntie Nasty and her favourite nephew, Merimas)  
  
Babe  
  
Nasturtium Brandybuck jammed the last of the wicked-looking hatpins into the floppy hat and surveyed the effect in the mirror. Yes, the hat sat at just the right angle, just a bit jaunty, to show off her dimples to best effect, but not too affected. After all, the main purpose of the hat was to keep the Sun from striking her down as she walked her favourite nephew by the River this day.  
  
She turned from the glass with a smile. 'There,' she said. 'All ready, little Merry!'  
  
Her sister protested. 'We oughtn't call him that, it doesn't seem right, somehow.'  
  
'Nonsense,' Nasturtium said cheerfully. 'Just because Saradoc and Esmeralda were silly enough to name their son Meriadoc... they ought to have known folk would call him "Merry" for short. And *our* wee lad,' she smiled fondly down at little Merimas, 'was "Merry" first!' Her smile faded as she saw her sister raise a fretful hand to her forehead. 'But you need to rest, dearie,' she said softly. 'We are off to see what we may see! Come, laddie!'  
  
Little Merimas skipped up to take the outstretched hand, chattering excitedly. Nasturtium smiled down at him, surely he was the cleverest lad in all of Brandy Hall, and the sweetest, too. She waved a hand to her sister with a last admonition, 'Go lie yourself down! We'll be back in time for tea,' and the two were gone, with a ringing, 'Bye-bye, Mama dearest!' from the tiny lad.  
  
A lazy butterfly swirled above the Hall's flower garden, and Merimas clapped his hands in delight. 'How does it fly, Auntie?' he asked.  
  
'It's made from leftover scraps of your dreams,' she said softly. 'They float on the breeze, you know.' He nodded wisely. Auntie Nasturtium knew the answer to every question.  
  
They had walked a little ways from the Hall, where trees overhung the path and bank of the River, affording some shade, when an outburst of frightful noise caused small Merimas to turn and grasp his aunt's leg in terror, eyes wide. Immediately she picked him up, and holding him with one hand, pulled a wicked hatpin from her hat with the other. A dog was loose, attacking something, from the sound. She eyed the trees, picking out a climbable one, and set her little nephew amongst the branches. 'You hold tight!' she shouted. 'I'm going to see what's what!'  
  
Just past a tangle of bushes she came upon a large nondescript dog, snarling in rage, face dripping red from slashes across the muzzle. A small, determined cat crouched before him, yowling, claws at the ready for another strike. Before Nasturtium could intervene, the dog pounced, got hold of the cat, and with a vicious shake the courageous little creature went limp.  
  
'You... beast!' Nasturtium cried in outrage. 'You drop that cat right now!' The dog gave the cat a last shake, dropped it, growled low, stalking towards the hobbit.  
  
'Don't you dare,' Nasturtium snarled back, hatpin grasped firmly in her hand. As the dog lunged forward, she was ready, jabbing the long, pointed thing into the dog's muzzle. Being a coward at heart, the beast yelped and turned tail, yelps receding in the distance as it fled.  
  
Nasturtium could hear her little nephew crying in fear, and she called out reassuringly, 'It's all right, lad, the nasty beastie is gone away. Auntie will come get you in the time it takes to sing a song. You just hold tight!' A shaky little voice answered, and she began to sing, rather absently, a nursery tune whilst scraping a shallow grave and gently depositing the little body with a soft pat. Between two verses, she said, 'You put up a good fight, lass. You nearly had the brute,' and wiped away a tear before continuing the song and mounding dirt over the little creature.  
  
As she stood, dusting her hands, she heard a tiny sound in the bushes. Calling to her nephew to wait just a heartbeat more, she bent to part the leafy branches, finding a tiny kitten, eyes not yet opened, mewling piteously. 'So this is what you were defending,' she breathed. 'You were carrying him, I suppose, moving house, when that ruffian attacked you.'  
  
She picked up the kitten, tucking it into the warmth under her clothes, and went to fetch Merimas. 'I've something to show you,' she said, trying to distract him from his fear, and when he gulped back his tears, she brought out the tiny mite. He touched the soft fur with a wondering finger.  
  
'Where's his Mama?' he asked.  
  
'She had something she had to do,' Nasturtium answered, 'and asked if we might mind him for her. Come, lad, I know just the thing.' She tucked the kitten back where it would stay warm and took the lad's hand, leading him to the stables. In one of the stalls, she knew, the Master's best sheepdog was suckling a litter of new pups.  
  
The dog looked up with a sweep of her tail on the straw, as Nasturtium knelt to greet her. 'Such a fine lass,' she said, caressing the silky head. 'Such fine pups, Fly, what a wonderful family you have there, dearie.' She picked up one of the pups, rubbing her hands all over it under the mother's anxious eye, then put it down again with a pat.  
  
Fly licked the pup all over and nudged it into place to nurse as Merimas watched in delight. 'He has a bath before tea just like me!' he crowed.  
  
'That's right, laddie,' Nasturtium said fondly, such a bright lad, what a joy Merimas was to her. She hoped she'd have ten little lads just like him someday, but for now she was content to borrow the joy of her sister's heart. She took the ball of kitten from where it curled, hidden under her clothes, and rubbed her hands all over it, hoping the scent from the pup would cling to its fur. Then she held out the wee scrap to the nursing Fly. The kitten made a tiny sound of hunger, and the dog nosed it, sniffing, then put her tongue out in a series of tiny licks.  
  
Holding her breath, Nasturtium put the kitten down amongst the pups. Fly nudged the wee creature again, then washed it thoroughly and shoved it into place to nurse. Nasturtium and her nephew broke into broad grins. 'There's a fine lass!' Nasturtium said softly, then looked down at her wide-eyed nephew. 'Come, lad,' she smiled. 'It's time for a certain young hobbit I know to have his own bath and tea!' Hand in hand, they walked slowly back to the Hall, pausing in the flower garden to watch the butterflies floating in the summer sun.  
  
The kitten thrived and grew and became the finest sheepherding cat in the Shire. 


	2. an old boot, a stale sandwich, a sudden ...

Another four-word challenge. Craft a story from these four unrelated terms: an old boot, a stale sandwich, a sudden cloudburst, and an earache.

***

The One that Didn't Get Away

Merry awakened to a tickling sensation in his ear. He started to slap it away, only to be answered by a giggle. He knew that giggle. With a moan, he pulled the pillow over his head and rolled away. Funny, he fancied he could still feel the tickle in his ear.  
  
He felt the bed shift slightly, and then a weight landed on top of him, something about the weight of... a certain six-year-old cousin, perhaps. The weight commenced to wiggle and bounce, and someone was trying to pry the pillow out of his determined grasp.  
  
In spite of himself, Merry began to laugh. He ought to be furious, to be rooted out of bed like a truffle discovered by a hog, but Pippin always made him laugh, somehow. He allowed the pillow to be thrust aside, and then a little voice whispered sibilantly in his ear. 'Merry! 'Tis time to get up! We're going fishing!'  
  
Merry groaned, remembering his rash promise of the day before. 'I didn't say today...' he protested.  
  
'Yes you did! When I asked you yesterday, you said...'  
  
'I said we'd go fishing _sometime_!'  
  
The bouncing commenced again. 'And that means today!' Pippin crowed softly, then clapped his hands to his mouth, eyes wide. He knew if anyone wakened, they would frown upon six-year-old Pippin going out into the dark, cold morning. They'd probably insist that he wait until the Sun rose from her bed and warmed the air a bit, and everyone knew that all the fish would have gone back to sleep by then!  
  
Merry threw his arm over his eyes. Why did he do this to himself? He never could say no to his baby cousin. Well, almost never. They were going to get in trouble again, he just knew it.  
  
Pippin saw the smile crease the corner of his cousin's mouth, and he knew he'd won. 'Come on, Merry!' he said. 'I've already packed our breakfast. Let's go before anyone else wakens.'  
  
Merry understood the need for secrecy, and hauled himself out of the bed. He stuck a finger in his ear, trying to rub away the tickle, then gave it up. He'd give it a good wash later; today was bath day, after all. He quickly dressed, fetched his fishing gear from the corner, and the two crept from the Hall.  
  
In the stables, Merry saddled his pony, Pippin picked up the bag of worms he'd dug from the compost pile the day before, after he'd won the promise from Merry. He packed the worms in one saddlebag and their breakfast in the other.  
  
To avoid too much noise, the lads led the pony across the yard, mounting only when they had gone beyond the paving stones. Merry felt Pippin giggling between his arms; he rested his chin in his cousin's curls and squeezed his legs against the pony's sides to move him into a smooth canter. The chill breeze of pre-dawn blew past them, and he shook his head in irritation as the tickle in his ear grew worse.  
  
It took nearly an hour to reach the best fishing spot, a stretch of fast water emptying into a deep pool. Merry tied the pony, took off the saddle, got out the gear, just as the sky began to lighten. By the dim light, he baited Pippin's hook while his little cousin watched solemnly. 'Does it hurt?' he asked with a quaver in his voice.  
  
'No, of course not,' Merry answered. 'It's just a worm, after all.'  
  
'How d'you know?' Pippin wanted to know. 'Did you ever ask?'  
  
'It doesn't hurt, Pip. Worms were put in the ground just for hobbits to use in fishing. That's what my father told me.'  
  
Pippin nodded, reassured. Uncle Saradoc knew everything there was to know. Another question occurred to him. 'Who put them there, then?'  
  
'Shhhhh,' Merry cautioned softly. 'You'll scare the fish!' He baited his own hook and helped Pippin cast his line. Then he helped Pippin cast his line again. Then he cut the tangled line, affixed another hook, and baited it for his cousin, who was perfectly willing to dig for worms but not so sure about impaling them.  
  
Merry got a nibble, but was too busy minding Pippin's line to do any serious fishing. Besides, he was rather hoping his little cousin would have the first catch of the day, what a golden coin that would be for his treasure box of memories!  
  
Pippin gave a sudden yell as his pole bent, the line taut. 'I've got one!' he yelped.  
  
'Steady,' Merry said. 'Don't jerk the line, now, just a nice steady pull.' He put a hand on the line to help his cousin.  
  
'It's heavy!' Pippin said excitedly. 'It must be a really big one!' Merry said nothing. It didn't feel right, not like a fighting fish at all...  
  
Pippin kept up a steady pull, bringing in the line, until something dark broke the surface. His cheers stopped as he stared in puzzlement. 'What is it?' he said, more curious than disappointed.  
  
Merry grabbed the line to pull in the catch. As soon as it was in his hands, he began to laugh.  
  
'What is it, Merry?' Pippin repeated. 'What?' When Merry didn't answer quickly enough to suit him, he butted his head into Merry's chest.  
  
'Och, don't _do_ that!' Merry protested, sitting down suddenly.  
  
'What did I catch, Merry?' Pippin persisted.  
  
'It's... it's... an old boot!' Merry said, and began to laugh again.  
  
'A what?' Pippin said. 'What's a boot?' He gazed at his catch, perplexed.  
  
'You put it on your foot!' Merry gasped.  
  
Pippin's eyes narrowed and a furrow appeared on his forehead. 'Whatever for?' he asked in disgust.  
  
When Merry had regained enough breath, he explained how some Bucklanders used boots to protect their feet, when even tough hobbit feet might not be tough enough. Pippin looked skeptical, but was distracted by the rumbling of his stomach. 'I'm hungry!' he said suddenly.  
  
'Fishing is hungry work,' Merry agreed. 'How about that breakfast?'  
  
Pippin proudly brought out the bag. The sandwiches were stale, bread obviously cut the day before, cheese hard, and the butter scraped thin over too much bread, but Merry forced himself to down his portion with as much feigned enjoyment as he could muster. At least there were apples to help him choke the sandwich down. 'That... that was very good, cousin,' he said when they were finished, and Pippin preened.  
  
'I bet you didn't know I could cook!' the six-year-old said.  
  
'I surely didn't,' Merry said honestly. The sun was rising now, the sky a brilliant scarlet, Sun illuminating heavy-hanging clouds. 'Pip, I'm sorry to have to say this, but I think we ought to go back to the Hall now.'  
  
'But we haven't caught any fish,' Pippin protested.  
  
'No, we've caught something much better,' Merry said, when a sudden flash and boom scared them both to silence. 'It's thundering, Pip, we've got to go _now_.'  
  
Another bright flash, accompanied by the loud tearing noise of lightning striking close by, and the pony screamed in fear, rearing, jerking its reins loose. Merry watched in dismay as it galloped up the path. Pippin was clinging to him, shaking, terrified, and he held his cousin close. 'It's all right, Pip, I won't let it hurt you,' he said over and over, until he began to believe it himself. The clouds opened, and the rain came down, hard and stinging. Pippin yelped, and Merry doffed his own cloak and wrapped it around his cousin for a double layer of protection. He was old enough to stand a little rain; he wouldn't melt, after all.  
  
The rain was short but intense, and when it was over, Merry was soaked and shivering, but Pippin was relatively dry, well-protected by the double layer of oiled wool cloaks.  
  
'What are we going to do now?' Pippin wanted to know.  
  
'We are going to walk back towards the Hall,' Merry said. 'The pony, of course, will run back, and once they find you missing, they'll know you're with me, and...'  
  
'And we're going to be in very-very-bad trouble,' Pippin said softly. As opposed to bad trouble or very-bad trouble...  
  
'I think you have the right of it, cousin,' Merry said. 'No cake for tea today, I'm afraid.' He sighed in spite of himself. His mother had planned seedcake for tea, he knew, because it was Pippin's very favourite treat. He took his cloak back from Pippin and slung it about his shoulders, but it did not feel warming at all.  
  
Merry picked up the saddle and Pippin got the fishing poles and saddle bags and they began the long trudge back to the Hall. What took an hour pony-back would be considerably longer afoot. Ah, well, the exercise would be warming, anyhow. Merry could not stop shivering, and the tickle in his ear was becoming steady discomfort.  
  
'Did you happen to tell anyone we were going fishing?' he asked Pippin.  
  
His little cousin shook his head. 'Of course not!' he said. 'What do you take me for, a fool? They wouldn't have let us go!' Merry sighed. He was afraid of that. When the pony came back riderless, they'd search, of course. But they wouldn't know which way to search. He wondered if they'd have to walk all the way back to the Hall; he was feeling worse by the moment.  
  
They'd walked about an hour when he said, 'Pip? I think it might be good to take a rest now.'  
  
'I'm not tired,' Pippin said stoutly.  
  
'All right, cousin, but you don't want to _get_ tired, either, and there's still a long way to go,' Merry said. He dropped the saddle and flopped onto the ground. In truth, he was feeling dizzy, and the vertigo made his stomach hurt, unless it was the sandwiches, and the pain in his ear was beginning to pound. It was the kind of pain he could not ignore, because it was inside his head, there was no getting away from it or trying to think of something else.  
  
He opened his eyes at a plucking at his sleeve. 'Merry,' Pippin whispered. 'I have to go.'  
  
'Go on in the bushes, then,' Merry answered. 'I'm not going to leave without you.'  
  
Pippin went into the bushes until he couldn't see his cousin anymore, took care of business, and came back out again. He found Merry curled up on the ground, arms hugging his head.  
  
'Merry!' he cried. 'Merry, what's wrong?' He tried to pull one of Merry's arms away, but Merry only groaned.  
  
'Merry, tell me!' Pippin begged.  
  
'My ear,' Merry managed to gasp. 'Someone's stuck a knife in my ear and he's twisting it cruel.'  
  
Pippin looked around wildly, then grasped Merry's shoulder. 'I'll go for help!' he said desperately. He knew that all he had to do was follow the path and he'd end up back at the Hall.  
  
Merry grabbed his wrist. 'No!' he gritted between his teeth. 'No, Pip, you mustn't wander by yourself, you might run into a fox.'  
  
'I'm not afraid of a fox,' Pippin said bravely.  
  
'You ought to be,' Merry said. 'A fox killed Meledoc last summer.' He'd been seven. Little hobbits weren't allowed to wander without larger brothers or cousins, but sometimes they forgot. 'You stay here,' he insisted. Another piercing pain struck and he grabbed his head. 'They'll find us soon,' he managed to gasp, then had to clamp his jaw against the nausea that accompanied the pain in his ear.  
  
Pippin sat down and pulled Merry's head into his lap. 'How can I help?' he asked.  
  
'Tell me a story,' Merry whispered. 'You're good at stories.'  
  
Pippin thought for a moment. 'Two cousins went a-journey in the Wilds of Middle-earth upon a time; d'you remember their names, now?'  
  
'Pippin,' Merry whispered.  
  
'Yes, Pippin was one or them, and the other was...'  
  
'Merry,' Merry said. The pain eased slightly, then came back with a vengeance. He felt Pippin softly rubbing at his back and shoulders as the story continued.  
  
Pippin spun a fantastic yarn of troll and dragon, wolves and eagles, gold and elves. Merry recognised elements of cousin Bilbo's stories, though his young cousin wove them into an entirely new tale. The adventurous cousins confounded a troll and found bright swords in the creature's treasure hoard, slew wicked spiders to save an elven prince, were flown by eagles over sharp-toothed mountains, befriended a talking wolf who rewarded them with gold for taking a thorn from its paw.  
  
By the time the two intrepid lads were returning in triumph, having eluded a greedy dragon desiring their gold, Pippin heard ponies' feet on the paths and yelled. He heard the ponies coming faster, and soon his father and his uncle and a number of cousins were gathered around them.  
  
His Uncle Saradoc bent to them, face anxious. 'What's happened to Merry?' he asked.  
  
Pippin shook his head. 'I don't know,' he said. 'He grabbed his head and won't let go.'  
  
Saradoc gently tried to pry Merry's arms loose. 'Let me take a look, Son,' he said. Merry moaned and held tighter. 'Tell me what's wrong,' his father insisted. Merry mumbled something, and Saradoc nodded. 'His ear,' he said.  
  
'Merimas had an earache last week,' Marmadas Brandybuck said. 'The insides burst and came out, 'twas that bad.'  
  
'We've got to get him back to the Hall, get warm oil into that ear,' Paladin said. Saradoc nodded and lifted Merry from Pippin's lap, and Paladin picked up his own son.  
  
'I told him stories,' Pippin said.  
  
'I'm sure you did,' his father answered. 'You've a tongue hinged on both sides, you do.' They galloped back to the Hall at the ponies' best speed.  
  
Although Pippin was barely damp, his mother and aunts insisted on soaking him in a hot tub, then wrapping him up well and putting smelly stuff on his chest and throat and tucking him up in bed with flannel wrapped heated bricks all 'round. They wouldn't let him go to Merry, which is what he really wanted, but they _did_ give him some seedcake after all when teatime finally came.  
  
They left one of the older aunts to sit with him through the night. He waited until she started to snore, then crept from the bed. Cautiously, he slipped from shadow to shadow until he reached Merry's room. Easing the door open, he saw his cousin, asleep, a wad of something white sticking from one of his ears.  
  
He climbed softly onto the bed. 'Merry!' he hissed. He shook his cousin's shoulder until the other groaned. 'Merry!' he said again. His cousin opened one eye.  
  
'What is it, Pippin?' he said sleepily.  
  
'Merry, can we go fishing again tomorrow?'


	3. large slug, Merry, tied up, green, tickl...

A Fistful of Flowers  
  
Take these words/phrases, and weave a story with them: A giant slug, green, tickle, tied up, Merry  
  
Did a little figuring of character's ages before I started writing, to get a clearer picture. (Math is not my strong point. If I made an error, please let me know.)  
  
Pippin - 8  
  
Pearl - 22 (she does not appear in the story, but is mentioned)  
  
Frodo - 30  
  
Merry - 16  
  
Sam - 18  
  
****  
  
Merry stretched and came back to himself with a start at the sound of cousin Bilbo's voice. 'Merry, my boy, go and fetch Pippin. He has just enough time to wash before tea.' This meant considerably more time than Merry himself would need. Pippin would undoubtedly be considerably dirtier.  
  
Bilbo smiled to see his young cousin reluctantly putting down the book of old tales. Young Merry shared his love of books, and though in many ways he was an awkward teen, he handled Bilbo's precious tomes with care and reverence.  
  
Through the window, open to admit the spring breeze, they could hear Frodo asking questions, and young Samwise Gamgee answering. 'Tell Frodo that tea is almost on,' Bilbo added. 'I'm sure Hamfast would be happy to see Sam back at work gardening, instead of answering questions, with idle hands.'  
  
'Yes, Bilbo,' Merry said, rising from his curled position in the big leather chair. 'What's for tea?'  
  
'Something quick and simple, I'm afraid. I've got to drive Pippin back to Greenmeadow Farm for Pearl's birthday supper.'  
  
'How could I forget?' Merry said wryly. 'It's all he's talked about for days. He even tried to get me to take him after breakfast, so he'd be sure not to miss it.'  
  
Bilbo put hands in pockets and rocked from toes to heels and back again, chuckling. 'Evidently she promised him a very special present.' The sound of a kettle at full whistle came to them, and the older hobbit said, 'Better hurry!'  
  
Merry nodded and strode from the room, tripping on his way out the door. He was growing so fast, he wasn't sure where his feet were these days.  
  
'Pippin!' he called. 'Teatime!' There was no answer; obviously Pippin was not in any of the numerous rooms of Bag End or he'd have popped out, for young Pippin never missed a meal if he could help it.  
  
Merry emerged into the garden, to see Samwise kneeling, bent over, clippers in hand, and a bucket next to him, and Frodo standing over him, hands in pockets, asking another question.  
  
'Well, you don't want to plant tomatoes and potatoes in the same patch,' Sam answered. 'They don't do well together. Tomatoes and carrots, now...'  
  
'Teatime, Frodo!' Merry sang out, and Frodo looked up with a smile. 'Have you seen Pip?'  
  
'No, I thought he was with you,' Frodo said.  
  
'He's not in Bag End,' Merry answered. He watched in fascination as Samwise picked a large, fat slug from its moist, shady hiding place and plunged it in the bucket. Looking into the bucket, he could see several more of the creatures. He made an involuntary sound of disgust, and Sam smiled up at him.  
  
'Quick end to them, and good riddance,' the gardener's son said. 'They're death on primroses.'  
  
'Have you seen Pippin?' Merry asked him.  
  
Sam shook his head. 'He were around earlier, asking the gaffer if I might walk him back to Tuckborough, but the gaffer told him I've work to do and not to be bothering, but to go and find his cousins.'  
  
'How long ago?' Merry asked.  
  
'Just afore nooning,' Sam said promptly.  
  
Nuncheon was, most days, a simple affair at Bag End. The hired girl would lay out meat and cheese and fresh baked rolls and sliced fruit and a plate of crisp vegetables, and anybody there at the time would make up his own plate whenever he was hungry. Bilbo's casual approach to meals would have scandalised Merry's mother, but it was just another of his carefree bachelor ways that endeared him to Merry. This was not to say that he couldn't put together a sumptuous sit-down feast anytime the whim took him. He just had better things to do. The meals were regular, the food was plenty, and his younger cousins reveled in the freedom at Bag End from stifling things such as table manners and polite conversation.  
  
'Let's go ask Buttercup. He likes to pester her for food between nooning and teatime,' Frodo suggested. But the hired girl had not seen the eight- year-old since she had been laying out luncheon and he had swooped upon the table to carry off several large sandwiches wrapped in his handkerchief. 'He said something about a picnic, I recollect,' she said absently, taking the smoking scones from the oven.  
  
'It's a little damp outside for a picnic,' Merry said, beginning to be worried.  
  
Frodo gave him a slap on his back. 'Come on,' he said. 'I know all the best hiding spots around Bag End. I'm sure we'll find him.' ...but they didn't.  
  
Bilbo looked up from the table, mouth full of scone. 'You're late,' he said. He hastily chewed the morsel, cleared his mouth, and added. 'I started without you.' He looked from Frodo to Merry. 'Where's that young rascal Pippin?'  
  
'We don't know, Bilbo,' Frodo said soberly. 'No one's seen him since just before nooning.'  
  
'No one's seen him?' Bilbo snorted. 'Did you start a game of hide-and-seek and forget to go find him?'  
  
'You know we'd never do that,' Frodo reproached. 'That's the kind of thing Fatty might think funny, or Reginard Took, but I would never...'  
  
'It's all right, Frodo, I know you and Merry are always fair to the young scamp. More than fair. You spoil him dreadfully.' He chuckled. 'But then, so do I.'  
  
'We've looked everywhere,' Merry broke in. 'All the usual places, and other places in the bargain.'  
  
'Well, grab a scone and take it with you whilst you keep looking,' Bilbo said. 'I'm a bit tied up at the moment with my book, or I'd join you.' The others nodded and piled scones, cheese, and fruit into handkerchiefs and headed out.  
  
Samwise and Hamfast were sitting on the garden bench, drinking tea and eating the meal Daisy had brought them from Number Three. Frodo said, 'Master Hamfast, may we borrow Sam for a bit? It seems as if young Pippin's misplaced himself.'  
  
'He's still got a lot of weeding to do,' the gardener huffed, but remembered that he was talking to the young master. 'Be sure you send him back to his work as soon as you find your young cousin,' he said grudgingly.  
  
Sam rose abruptly. 'No, Sam, finish your tea,' Frodo said, but the young gardener shook his head, pointing to the others' bulging handkerchiefs.  
  
'I'll just pack mine up as well and get to it later,' Sam answered. 'If young Master Pippin's gone missing, no telling how far he'd get should I make a leisurely meal.'  
  
Merry gave a start. '...how far he'd get...' Frodo gave him a sharp glance, and he returned it, the colour draining from his face.  
  
'You don't think...' Frodo said slowly.  
  
'O Frodo,' Merry said, sick with worry. 'What if he decided to take himself back to Greenmeadow Farm?'  
  
'By himself?' Hamfast said abruptly, and rose, scattering his sandwiches on the ground. 'There's foxes and badgers, for starters, and the ditches are brimming from all the rain we've had...' He stopped at the sight of Merry's face and said, 'I'll get the lads. We'll have a search going in three shakes of a lamb's tail.'  
  
The searching hobbits scattered along the likeliest paths, all except Samwise, who'd been thinking. It was Pearl's birthday, and Pippin dearly loved his eldest sister. He'd told Sam just that morning that he wanted to do something special for her, but he didn't know what. Samwise had suggested a bouquet of flowers, and offered to cut them himself, for he knew the young Took was not allowed anything sharp, at his age.  
  
One of the paths running towards Tookland ran through a field of wildflowers. It was a little out of the way, heading towards Tookbank rather than Tuckborough, but mightn't Pippin discount the extra distance if he thought he could gather an armful of flowers along the way?  
  
Samwise shouldered his spade and set off down the path. If he found Master Pippin in the wildflower meadow, he'd go him one better. He'd dig up a shovelful of those wildflowers so that Pippin could give them to Pearl to plant in her garden, to enjoy long past the time it would take a bouquet to wilt. He could hear voices calling 'Pippin! Pippin! Peregrin Took!' as he trotted down the path.  
  
When he reached the wildflower field, he saw several torn spots amongst the riot of green and purple, red and yellow, white and pink. He nodded to himself. Young Took had been here gathering flowers, for sure. He went on to find a flattened spot where Pippin had sat to eat his lunch, an apple core providing further evidence.  
  
Sam glanced at the angle of the sun. His longer legs had brought him pretty quickly to the meadow; he'd only been trotting along for an hour, whereas it would have taken Pippin from noontide until teatime to reach this spot. The eight-year-old must be nearby. Sam clapped a hand to his head. Of course! The apple core had not yet turned brown; the young Took must have just been here.  
  
A thin scream reached him, not far away, where a copse of trees grew, and Sam leapt towards the sound. He heard the sound of growling, and a terrified shout. 'You go away! Leave me alone!' His hands tightened on the handle of his spade. It sounded like some stray dogs had joined together in a pack and were hunting for food or sport... and from the sound of it, hunting a young hobbit.  
  
Sam raced for the copse, heart in his mouth. He heard barking break out, and another scream, and fear for Pippin lent wings to his feet. He reached the copse to see two large dogs and a smaller one leaping against a tree, where a young hobbit crouched among the branches.  
  
'Hi! You!' Sam roared, striding forwards, swinging the spade. He connected with the head of one of the large dogs, stunning it. Another swing killed the smaller dog outright. As he was swinging the spade at the third dog, it leapt agilely aside and the spade hit the trunk of the tree, shattering the handle. The injured dog staggered away as Sam hefted the broken handle and faced the last snarling dog.  
  
'You just try it, you lout,' Sam growled back. 'I'll take your head off just like old Bullroarer did that orc chieftain.' Something in his look and tone convinced the dog that his sport was done, and the beast slunk away.  
  
He looked up into the tree. 'Are you hurt, Master Pippin?'  
  
The shaking child didn't answer, his eyes wide with fright. Samwise could see a long tear in his trousers, and a red trickle. He reached up into the tree to lift Pippin down. 'Let's have a look at that leg,' he said. He was relieved to find that one of the dogs had evidently grazed the young hobbit's leg while leaping to try to pull him from the branch, but it was shallow, and not the terrible torn flesh he'd feared he'd find.  
  
'We can patch that up in a twinkling,' Sam said. He gave Pippin the sandwich he'd wrapped up, and used the handkerchief to dress the wound while the food did its part in calming the young one.  
  
Giving the spade handle to Pippin, he said, 'Here, you hold this, in case any of those brutes decides to come back. We'll have to tell the Shirriff that there's some dogs needing catching.' Pippin nodded without speaking, and Sam lifted him up and bore him as quickly as he might back to Bag End, where Mr Bilbo waited, and the other searchers would return after they'd gone all the way to Tookland without finding the missing child, probably with a horde of searching Tooks on their heels.  
  
Pippin's leg had been washed and bandaged and he'd been borne away by his family to Greenmeadow farm. Sam had been showered with gratitude by the Tooks, and showered with abuse for his carelessness in breaking the spade, by Hamfast, and he was back at the garden, pursuing the neglected weeds, when Frodo spoke behind him. 'Sam?'  
  
Sam turned, even though he knew he'd be weeding by lantern-light if he stopped to answer any more of Mr Frodo's questions. 'Yes, Mr Frodo?' he said.  
  
Frodo crouched beside him. 'We might have lost Pippin today, if not for you.'  
  
'O, 'tweren't nothing, Mr Frodo.'  
  
Frodo shook his head. 'I saw the marks on his leg. Those dogs would have pulled him down out of that tree and...' he swallowed hard, and couldn't speak for a moment.  
  
'Don't go borrowing trouble, Mr Frodo. Master Pippin is safe at home by now, and none the worse for it but a bad fright.'  
  
Frodo nodded, then dug in his pocket. 'I'm supposed to give you this.' He brought out a shining coin, not silver or copper, like the only coins Sam had ever seen up until now, but a yellow colour, shining in the sunset light.  
  
'Mr Frodo,' he gasped. 'I cannot be taking that...'  
  
Frodo pressed the coin into his hand. 'Pippin's father gave it to me, to give to you. He told me you were to buy a new spade, and then use what's left over for whatever you'd want to buy for yourself.'  
  
Sam stared at the coin in wonder. 'I cannot...' he said.  
  
'You must,' Frodo answered firmly. 'Paladin Took doesn't take his gold lightly, you cannot insult him by refusing.' Meeting Sam's eyes, he added, 'He said Pippin's life was worth much more, but that was all he could afford to give you. So take it.'  
  
Sam wrapped the coin carefully in his spare handkerchief and put it carefully away in his deepest pocket. 'Thank you, Mr Frodo,' he said slowly.  
  
Frodo seated himself on the ground to watch Sam pull weeds. 'Do you know what you'll do with the rest?' he asked idly.  
  
Sam nodded. He would give it to the gaffer. His father would be tickled pink. 


End file.
